Infamous
by Read 'n Love 2Gether
Summary: Paul Lahote: the fire of the pack. But is that all there is to him?
1. Chapter 1

**WARNINGS**: Violence references, brief abuse, language, and the use of few OC characters. The overall rating for part one is T, for teen readers.

Paul lived a life of hatred.

Life sucked, gloomy as the grey sky above his head.

But the clock continued to tick, the sun continued to sink, and the rain continued to fall.

He was trapped in the rainy fire of rage that he had grown up in.

Anger was his shadow, hovering over him, threatening to swallow him whole.

His temper ticked, threatening to explode.

Eventually, it did just that.

And there was no turning back.

**~:~ **

**Infamous**

Chapter One

The Beginning of the End

_September 2nd, 1997._

Paul lived in Tacoma, Washington. The "City of Destiny" was what they called it. Paul's life there was simple and sweet, but it didn't last for very long. He only spent the first eight years of his life there - his destiny lay somewhere else completely.

The sounds of his parent's crisp tones floated down the hall into Paul's room. For the past few months, his mother had made sure he took his bath and brushed his teeth at night before she sent him off to his room and shut the door tightly. Paul would always throw over his covers and creep across the wooden floor to the door, pressing his ear against it to listen. Some nights, things were quiet. Other nights, it was just the opposite.

Naughty words. Accusations. Complaints. And shouting - oh, the shouting, that was the worst of it. Paul used to only hear such conversations between his parents every now and then, but as time passed, they grew more and more frequent until Paul's mother was shooing him off to his room every night, putting him to bed earlier and earlier because she needed to go "talk" to Paul's father. Paul was only eight, but he understood what was going on to a small extent. His mother and father were falling out of love - even little Paul could almost understand that.

On one particular night, Paul's father grew angry when Paul's mother had over-cooked his meal. He stood from the dinner table and threw his plate against the ground, shattering it to bits. Paul's mother was on her feet a moment later, ushering little Paul into his room in the blink of an eye. When the shouting started, Paul found that he didn't want to listen. Instead, he lay beneath his scratchy covers, clutching his blanket to his chest. A frustrated crease appeared in between his thick eyebrows when he heard the smack of a hand making contact with another's skin.

There was a long, dragging silence. Paul could only hear the heavy breathing of his mother - Paul knew it was her because she had a certain softness to her, even when she breathed. Paul relaxed slightly when she finally took a shaky breath. There was a pause, and then the floor creaked.

"What about Paul?" she asked slowly. "What will we do with him?"

Paul's father grunted once in response, his deep voice booming as if he expected Paul to have slept through their argument. "I'm taking _my_ boy back to the reservation. With me."

"NO!" Paul's mother's breathing suddenly shut off as if she had clamped a hand over her mouth to stop her scream. There was another pause until she spoke again. "You can't take him from me, John."

"Try and stop me," Paul's father grumbled.

A big crash echoed down the hall and footsteps pounded on the floor.

Paul's eyes widened when he heard his mother's protesting scream. The sound sent shivers through his body. He shot straight up in his bed and stared at the door. It had started to rattle. A cold sweat covered his skin. After a few seconds of struggle, the door blew open, revealing the face of his infuriated father. He stormed into Paul's room and snatched Paul into his arms. Paul could only stare up at him, stricken with shock while his father marched through the house, knocking everything in sight to the floor when he passed.

"You'll see, Paul," he muttered to his son while he threw open the front door and ducked out into the humid air. "Someday, you'll see how stupid I was for settling for your mother."

Paul cast an unbelieving glance at his father and then wiggled in his grip until he could peek over his shoulder. His mother was running towards the two of them, her expression filled with grief. Her hair was a tattered mess and her eye was swollen, but she didn't even seem to notice.

"PAUL!" she screeched. "_PAUL_!"

Paul reached his palm out to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. Paul's father swatted his hand away and slammed the door behind him. He tossed his son's body into the backseat of his truck, then forced the door shut and locked the latch.

The rough surface of the car seat scraped Paul's face. He winced at the feel of it, then raised his head, rubbing his knuckles to his forehead. His father stood by the door, lifting his fists to Paul's mother, who was still running towards the truck.

"I'll see you in court, Mary!" Paul gave her a forceful shove when she threw herself at him in desperation, sending her crashing into the porch stairs. Still, Paul's mother stood once more, running at Paul's father with her own fists prepared to swing. Paul's father caught her hands with his and knocked her back into the porch railing. He leaned into her face, his mouth moving quickly while he spat words at her.

Paul couldn't hear what his father had said, but it must have been something really awful, because his mother crumbled onto the ground, sobbing loudly. Paul's father turned on his heel and sauntered into the truck, swinging himself into the driver's seat.

Horrified, Paul glanced between his mother and father, waiting for his father to go pick his mother up off the ground and apologize to her. But he didn't. The engine started with a rumble and the truck jerked into motion, shooting down the muddy driveway.

Paul waved frantically back at his mother, pressing his face into the window. The realization of what was happening struck him then; it hit him like a slap in the face. Paul pounded his fists against the window, trying with all his might to break through.

"NO! MOM! _MOMMY_! MOM, GET UP- HELP!"

"Shut up," Paul's father growled. "That shit excuse of a woman won't be anything to neither your nor I anymore."

Paul's head snapped back toward his father. Shudders spread through his shoulders while he glowered at him with bulging eyes. "DAD, YOU HAVE TO GO GET MOM! PLEASE, GO HELP HER!"

"No." Paul's father shook his head, sighing when he turned onto the road. "You don't belong out here with her. It's all been a lie."

Paul blinked, stunned by his words. He blinked again in confusion, slowly sliding into his seat. "Mom lied to me?"

"No, Paul. You're too young to understand this now. Just. . . Just sit back there and be a good boy."

Paul was only eight years old. He didn't completely understand what was going on, but it didn't matter; he was powerless. Instead of arguing, he swallowed his words and shrunk back into his seat. Paul obediently leaned his forehead on the window, knowing deep down that his life was going to change forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_November 3rd, 1999._

Two years came and went, passing by like nothing. Paul grew and learned like any other boy did. He had his fair share of black eyes and mud-fights, like any other boy did. Paul was an average ten-year-old boy. His life seemed normal. On the outside.

On the inside, life was awful. Paul spat and kicked and screamed when he got the chance to let out some of his anger. He threw tantrums that often resulted in early bedtimes without dinner. He hated life on the reservation. Life in a house enclosed in the middle of nowhere. Paul was amazed at the fact that there wasn't any reports of anybody drowning. How could everybody around him be so content to the dull, grey-skyed life of the reservation? He couldn't stand it here.

Each night, after his father had shut the door behind him and ordered him to bed, Paul ranted. He ranted about the constant rain and how annoying it was. He ranted about the forest and how it was all green when it's supposed to be brown. He ranted about the empty space of people and how we were supposed to have neighbors to play with and talk to. He ranted about the boring nothingness of each passing day. He ranted about my father ignoring me and never speaking to me. And most of all, Paul ranted about how I wanted my mother.

But she wasn't ever going to see him again.

Paul sighed when that thought hit him. He had ranted even more than usual tonight. It was stormy and grey. Rain whooshed down in heavy waves. The trees thrashed and thunder roared, but he ignored it. Paul crossed his hands over my gangly form and glared at nothing.

After a few moments, Paul's father must have mustered up the energy to drag himself off the couch. He listened to his father staggering down the hall, spitting out a long stream of curses. Paul remained frozen in place, knowing what was to come.

The door exploded open. Paul's father was all but blowing steam out his nostrils as he found Paul's form lying relaxed on the bed when he was supposed to be asleep. He grabbed the door in his hands and flung it aside as he moved across the room to me.

"Paul, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Paul didn't move his gaze. His hands curled into fists, my knuckles cracking with the strain of it. "I was thinking."

"Thinking?" Paul's father spluttered. "What would you have to_ think _about?"

Paul stared evenly into my father's eyes. His back muscles locked in place, tensing up. Paul tightened his fists, his throat growing dry although he somehow managed to choke out the words anyways. "This is shit, Dad. All of it. This place, this life, and this . . . _family_."

His father grabbed his shirt in his shaking hand. He yanked Paul up from my bed, holding him close enough to smell the sour scent of his breath. He breathed heavily as he shook Paul once. "_What_ did you just say?"

Paul swallowed hard, wincing as his saliva splattered on face. Paul stared up at my father, not saying anything while his mind grew slow, heavy with fear. Paul knew better than to repeat myself, so he only nodded.

"Do you want your mouth scrubbed out, boy? I'll scrub it clean of that filthy language!" he threatened, his voice deep and raised.

Paul's teeth ground together. The strain of it wiggled his loose baby tooth, threatening to push it free. His heart thundered in his chest, but he remained silent while he struggled not to speak his mind.

"That's it! I've had enough of this nonsense, after I'll I've done for you! You should be _grateful _that I at least that I keep this roof over your sorry head." Paul's father snarled, bringing his hand back to strike.

Paul swallowed hard again, but he didn't flinch. He stared evenly into his father's dark eyes. "Go ahead. Do it."

For a long moment, it seemed that he would. Paul's father's face was sweaty and blotched with anger, his dark eyes filled with hatred. But very, very slowly, he lowered the boy's body back down. His breathing didn't go even.

"You'll pay, Paul. You'll pay for all of this. _You're _doing this to me."

With that, he staggered back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him with all of his might.

Paul's body thudded back to the bed. He let out a huge breath, feeling his chest lower when he did. No matter what his father said, it wouldn't get to him. Bringing him to live here and taking him away from my mother was the worst punishment he could ever give Paul.


End file.
